


the thoughts that i hold

by arzoensis, surfacetension



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arzoensis/pseuds/arzoensis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfacetension/pseuds/surfacetension
Summary: Pekka thinks his backup goalie is cute. That’s the first problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Woah! Here’s a lot of words of fic. Just some stuff you should know, in case you think we don’t know how time works. We changed Juuse’s first call up from one day to one week, since a one-day call-up is patently ridiculous. Everyone knows you can’t fall in love with a person in two weeks, you need _three_. However, everything else should adhere to the 16-17 season. If it doesn't, oops.
> 
> Also Mike Fisher is way nicer in this than he has any right to be, probably.
> 
> Title is from The Weeknd’s “Die For You.”
> 
> I would arguably say this leans in the direction of dom/sub, which we thought would be covered under that nice little daddy kink tag, which may or may not be your thing. Please feel free to email me at arzoensis @ gmail, or send me [a message](http://arzoensis.tumblr.com/ask), and I can provide more information if you need it. 
> 
> There are plenty of people to thank for their beta and cheerleading and we hope they know who they are. It’s been a long road to this! Thanks, folks.

Before Worlds, Pekka only knows about Juuse from whatever draft information the coaching staff have. The Preds picked him up with a late pick, more a comment on his size than his skill. Like the scouts say, if he was a few inches taller he wouldn’t have lasted until the fourth round.

Juuse’s at Belarus, but he dresses for one game. A back-up to a back-up, sitting behind Mikko. Pekka barely remembers meeting him there, all of nineteen years old. They don’t speak much; a few cursory exchanges, mostly, the kid looking more starstruck than anything else. He’s been playing in international competitions for years, but not with established names; it makes sense, at least, that he’s shy. He’s not playing, there for the learning experience, usually sitting in the press box rather than watching from the bench.

A year later, and Juuse is on the national team headed to Prague. Pekka spots him while they’re getting checked into the hotel, and all of a sudden the rest of the team teases that he’s found himself a duckling. Juuse does follow him around a lot, but at the very least he can chalk that up to the fact that they’re both tending goal. Pekka doesn’t know how to get rid of him—but he doesn’t think he could if he had the chance. There’s something mildly gratifying about having the kid follow him around like he’s got all the answers to everything. This time around Juuse establishes himself as a solid back-up, like it’s some sort of foreshadowing. He starts once, swaps with Engren a few times before he’s the one staying on the bench.

He’s got a real chance of making it up from the minors. International competition is one thing, the length of tournaments suggesting a flash in the pan, but after he’s been on the Ads for a bit he’s got plenty of game tape to show off. Pekka’s watched them all. You have to scout out the competition, right? Heir apparent, and all that.

Juuse’s small by NHL standards, half a foot shorter than Pekka, but he’s feisty. Talented. He knows his weaknesses, has probably been hammered on them since he put the mask on. Compensates for his height with a preternatural ability to track the puck, great movement in the crease. He’s not ready to be a starter yet, more a knock against his youth than his size, but he’s got that spark in him. An eagerness to do well, a competitive edge honed just this side of too sharp. Just needs the experience and a moment to shine.

At camp, that very first time, Juuse catches his eye when they’re in the huddle. With his mask off he’s—cute. That’s the first thing Pekka doesn’t expect. He smiles, shy and warm and magnetic. That’s the second thing: he’s got a pull to him, and it throws Pekka off-kilter now. He’s not gonna try and convince himself that he’s a good person, that if Juuse was interested he wouldn’t bring him back to his hotel room. Maybe, if it wasn’t for the tournament, Pekka would.

Pekka knows a lot more about him by the time they’re in the NHL together. Knows about how Juuse watched him play as a kid growing up back in Finland, wanted to be like him. He’s not blind: Juuse’s too obvious with the way he looks at him, the brightness in his eyes not entirely just hero worship. Now that he’s here, that should put Juuse firmly in “absolutely not” territory. Too full of awe, too young, too—everything. Too much.

But that first time, Pekka smiles back.

 

Juuse needs a place to live when he gets called up in October. He could room with another one of the kids, sure, but Pekka’s seen the way they live. He has the space, anyway. It’s certainly not like he has any sense of self-preservation. Maybe he’s just a masochist, keeping what he can’t or shouldn’t have close to him. He’s done worse. Probably.

“You can stay with me,” Pekka says. “Is that okay with you?”

Juuse practically lights up when Pekka suggests it, and he’s moved into the guest room by the end of the day. It’s nice to be around someone who speaks the same language as you do when you’re still trying to get settled, Pekka thinks. He just didn’t realize how easily it went both ways; how much he missed that too, until Miikka comes over for dinner and the both of them are getting underfoot.

There isn’t much for Juuse to bring, enough clothes to last the week, two suits, some gaming console he apparently can’t live without. Pekka helps him unpack the few things he has in his luggage, clucks his tongue at the very apparent lack of actual necessities like clothes and toiletries. The rest of his stuff is back in Milwaukee. He hasn’t been established as Pekka’s back-up, not yet, and with the probability of getting sent down there’s no reason for him to shuttle everything up to Nashville when he could just buy everything new here. The team’s barely in town long enough for him to justify buying much. Those are his reasons anyway. Pekka takes him shopping despite his protests. He doesn’t let Juuse pay for any of it.

“When you’re in my house, you let me buy what you need,” Pekka says, waving off Juuse’s wallet and handing over his own card at the register. “Save your money. Sounds fair?”

Juuse glances at him, and he looks away, smiling a little. “Sure,” he says.

He likes getting taken care of. Pekka doesn’t know what this says about him, about either of them. It’s probably nothing good, but he watches Juuse put four bags of gummy worms in their cart and doesn’t say anything about it at all.

 

Pekka gets Juuse to help him in the kitchen, ostensibly because one day Juuse’s going to move out and he’ll need to learn to fend for himself. Really, Juuse just wanders over every time Pekka’s in the kitchen, hovers in the corner of Pekka’s eye like he’s waiting for a treat. Pekka asks him if he wants to help and Juuse startles like he wasn’t expecting Pekka to _notice_ him.

He’s given a knife, clear instructions to dice up a carrot. Pekka finds out rather quickly that Juuse has no idea what he’s doing. The first time they’re lucky nothing goes horribly wrong, the knife flashing dangerously close to his fingers. He’s a fast learner though, even if Pekka swears he’s going to have a heart attack every time Juuse picks up a sharp utensil. He concentrates so hard, trying to get all of his cuts perfect, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth.

Juuse’s vegetables are a little lopsided but they cook evenly enough. And anyways, Pekka firmly believes food tastes better when you had a role in making it.

Pekka remembers being his age. He wants to try and make Juuse feel less lost than he was, caught between everything new. Pekka had people to help him through that; he imagines it’s his turn to do it. He makes dishes his mom taught him years ago, the recipes still languishing in his e-mails, the kind of deep-down comfort food he never really craves until he’s trying to hunt down a semi-obscure ingredient.

“Doesn’t taste like my mom’s,” Juuse says, teasing, but he finishes his plate and asks for seconds anyway.

In the concentrated space of the kitchen Juuse seems to think he can get away with careless touching, the kind of stuff that he’d have to crowd against Pekka for. He likes bumping his shoulder against Pekka’s, hand low on Pekka’s back when he’s trying to get past him in the narrow space between stove and island. Juuse always looks smug when he thinks Pekka isn’t looking, like he thinks he’s being sly.

And Pekka can’t really help but touch him back. At first Pekka does it because it’s—amusing isn’t really the right word. More like he’s leaning against boundaries, watching the way Juuse reacts. An eye for an eye, or whatever. He touches Juuse on the shoulder to get him to nudge over a bit; presses his fingers against his elbow to get his attention, ask him for the garlic that’s on his far side.

He’s not imagining it when Juuse stands straighter, blushes a little. Every time.

 

They’re on the road almost immediately after Juuse joins the team for the first time, a two week trip to the west coast. Pekka’s getting comfortable in his usual spot on the plane when Juuse practically leaps into the seat next to him. Pekka glances at him, trying to look annoyed, but Juuse looks so pleased with himself for having seized such a coveted spot. Which he shouldn’t be; Pekka doesn’t usually sit with anyone anyway. Regardless, it’s hard to stay mad at him.

“Hey kid,” Pekka says, and he almost regrets it when it comes out of his mouth. Juuse doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“What do you usually do on flights?” Juuse asks.

“Read, watch some game tape, take a nap. If I get the paper I do the crossword,” Pekka says, and Juuse laughs before he realizes Pekka isn’t joking about that part of it.

“Oh, um.” Juuse grins—somewhat apologetically—at him. “It sounds like fun.”

Mike comes down the aisle for the bathroom a bit later, and he raises his eyebrows at Pekka when he sees Juuse fast asleep against his shoulder. He doesn’t do anything, just glances away, and Pekka doesn’t know if there’s a certain way he should feel about that.

Of course, PK chooses exactly that moment to peek his head up and over the seat. He looks _delighted_.

“Got your boy with you, huh?” PK asks, and he happily snaps a picture of them before he ducks back down into the seat. “I’m putting this in the groupchat. This is so cute.”

Juuse makes a soft, displeased noise, settling more comfortably against Pekka’s shoulder. Whatever. Pekka leans his head against Juuse’s, touches his hand under the blanket.

 

Juuse doesn’t stay with the Preds for long. After the California leg of their roadtrip he’s on a plane to Milwaukee before they make it to Colorado. He’s got the chance of making it big, a true starter in the league, and the team wants to balance his time properly. They want him playing games, not just learning from the bench. In the A he’ll start most of the games he’s on the roster for; here, he won’t.

Pekka doesn’t get around to actually looking at the state of his house until their day off after the Hurricanes are in town. Juuse’s left his stuff all over Pekka’s house because he actually isn’t that neat despite his insistence to the contrary. Pekka finds hoodies and jackets strewn over random surfaces, folds them neatly to leave on the guest bed until the next time Juuse comes back.

Pekka catches himself making too much food the first couple of days after Juuse leaves, actually feels kind of–unsettled while he scrapes the leftovers into containers. He’s not too pleased about how he actually sort of misses Juuse, a realization that sets in as his house echoes around him. It seems unfair that the kid has managed to shift, however slightly, the way that Pekka has always lived at home. Seven years, and Juuse does something in–a few _days_. Pekka had come to expect it, the little things he did: the way he’s never far behind, an unexpected jolt of laughter from the living room. And now there’s almost a void where he should be; Pekka turns around, expecting him to be there, and he isn’t. It throws him off. Pekka shakes his head at himself. Mooning over some kid.

 

Juuse gets called up again in November, happily drags more stuff he determines he can’t live without into Pekka’s house. He makes himself at home so easily, and Pekka doesn’t catch himself calling it _home_ for the both of them until later, far later. Instead, he’s just happy to see Juuse standing next to him in the kitchen, humming while he chops up some vegetables for dinner.

There’s three consoles plugged into the television now, wires running in every direction just waiting for Pekka to trip on them. Juuse has the team come over to play video games, tells Pekka about it fifteen minutes before Nealer trundles into the house with six people in tow, more coming in the half hour after. They’re like a swarm of locusts, eating all the food Pekka possibly has in the house, but they have a good time, at least.

Mike glances at Juuse practically tucked up against Pekka’s side on the couch, turns to look at Pekka, but he merely shrugs and takes another swallow of his beer. There’s a lot of people on the couch, and they’re all sitting pretty close to each other. Sure, Arvi’s practically being swallowed by Colin, but it’s not _weird_. Mike has a face that all but says _we’re gonna talk about this_ , and Pekka is—definitely not looking forward to that.

Of course, he walks right into it when he comes back down from the master bath, and Mike’s waiting for him on the stairs.

“You know what you’re doing, right?” Mike asks, right off the bat. He’s barely older than Pekka, but the tone of his voice almost makes him squirm.

“I don’t,” Pekka replies, and that’s the truth.

Mike frowns at him, clearly not pleased by his answer. “You better figure something out, and soon. Kid’s over the moon for you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Pekka mutters. He sighs, leans against the wall. “I’m trying to navigate this as I go. It’s not the best choice, but it’s the only one I have right now.”

“Do you like him?”

Pekka opens his mouth, shuts it. An answer would make it real, and that’s—not frightening, per se, just. Pekka doesn’t know how to describe that, not entirely. Right now he has plausible deniability, that what they have isn’t an undercurrent dragging them closer together but a normal, mentor-mentee relationship, without something like static crackling at the edges. And maybe it’s edging closer and closer to something irreversible, but they’re not _there_ yet, and Pekka knows he’s toeing the line, but. At least he hasn’t stepped over yet. Mike’s eyes search his face, and he finally takes a step back.

“Figure it out,” Mike says, simple, and he lets Pekka go.

“It’s your turn,” Juuse says when Pekka drops into the seat next to him, handing him the controller. “Nealer’s really good at this. Good luck.”

It’s nearly midnight by the time the last person leaves, and the living room is a mess. Juuse hums while he helps Pekka gets things into the dishwasher, knocks their shoulders together with a laugh. He catches Pekka watching him, and barely blushes when he grins.

 

It’s getting late. The SportsCenter segment playing seems familiar, but Pekka’s only half-sure that he’s watched it already. It’s hard to tell Coyotes jerseys from Senators ones when they’re both away. Juuse is sitting next to him on the couch, slumped all the way down, his arms folded across his chest. He seems to be on the verge of falling asleep, so Pekka doesn’t try to ask him for the TV remote sitting on the other side of him. He leans over, careful not to disturb Juuse, reaching across his body.

Juuse leans in too, his lips brushing against the side of Pekka’s mouth, and Pekka almost flinches.

Juuse stares at him for a moment, mouth parted. He says, all at once, almost desperate, “I thought—I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought you were.” He cuts off his own words abruptly, swallows. His fingers are clenched tight in the couch’s fabric. He’s flushed with embarrassment, not making eye contact, too ashamed.

“It’s okay,” Pekka says quietly, but Juuse doesn’t look at him. Something wrenches inside Pekka’s chest, seeing the way Juuse almost folds into himself. He wants to _help_ , wants to take care of him in a way that’s almost visceral. He touches Juuse’s jaw, turns his face back towards his own so he’ll look, some sort of apology he doesn’t know how to say.

“It’s okay,” Pekka repeats, and he pulls him closer. “What do you want? Tell me.”

Juuse blinks at him, like he can’t quite believe that Pekka’s letting him do this. Pekka—he can’t really believe it, either. It feels almost like he’s floating outside of himself. But Juuse’s always laid what he’s got bare, doesn’t know how to keep anything close to his chest. He leans up to press his lips onto Pekka’s, dry and chaste.

“Okay,” Pekka murmurs, and he touches Juuse’s thigh, almost like a question. Juuse looks at him, and Pekka gently pulls Juuse onto his lap, lets him relax in his arms. “This is fine?”

Juuse nods, his face buried into the crook of Pekka’s shoulder. He drags his mouth down Pekka’s neck, his stubble scratchy against delicate skin. Pekka runs his hands along Juuse’s back, pulling his shirt up, skin so warm to the touch. He can feel Juuse’s hips twitch against his, already half-hard in his sweats.

Juuse’s almost shivering like he’s vibrating out of his skin, his muscles shifting in Pekka’s hands. _Beautiful_ comes unbidden to his mind, and Pekka has to shove the thought away. This is a mistake. He should stop this.

Juuse hitches against him, tiny motions like he can’t help it, and Pekka holds his hips still. Juuse lets out a soft sound and leans forward, gripping Pekka’s shoulders. Pekka bites softly at Juuse’s bottom lip and pulls him closer. He’s still trying to move, like he thinks Pekka won’t notice.

“Do you think you’ve earned this?” Pekka asks. He drags his thumb along the wet fullness of Juuse’s lip. Juuse’s tongue darts out to lick across the pad, and Pekka’s resolve nearly breaks right then and there.

“Yeah. Yes, please,” Juuse breathes, and it’s almost convincing. He looks so eager, so ready to do whatever Pekka wants him to do. It would be so easy to give in.

Instead, Pekka keeps kissing him, little frustrating presses of his mouth, his hands still firm on Juuse’s hips. Juuse whines, tries to tug on Pekka’s pants. Pekka laughs quietly against his mouth, drags his hands away.

“Please, Pekka.” Juuse tries to look vulnerable, soft. He looks up at Pekka from under his eyelashes, bottom lip between his teeth. It’s like a gut punch. Maybe Juuse knows him too well, reads him like he’s an open book, and Pekka doesn’t know anyone who’s dug into his skin like this before. He clenches his jaw, brushes the hair out of Juuse’s eyes to stall for a moment.

“No. Later,” Pekka says. He smiles at him, kisses the corner of his frown. “I want it to be good for you.”

“It’ll be good right now,” Juuse mutters. Pekka laughs under his breath, kisses just under Juuse’s jaw.

“Later. I promise,” he says, soft. “I wouldn’t lie, right?”

Juuse sighs, his hand dragging down the center of Pekka’s chest, but he finally nods in agreement. Pekka smiles at him, tilts his head up with one hand on his chin before he kisses him one last time.

Juuse only whines a little bit when Pekka nudges him off his lap and back onto the couch. Pekka finally gets the remote back and switches the channel.

 

For the first time in what feels like years, Pekka craves something sweet. Juuse’s always crunching away at the awful cereal Elly introduced him to, and now the kid almost refuses to eat anything else for breakfast, to the mild comments of the training staff. But watching him dangle sour gummy worms into his mouth while watching TV has reminded Pekka of sweets that aren’t just fruit. He’s not proud of it, but he might as well. Worst comes to worst Juuse’ll definitely eat it.

He digs around in his kitchen for bakeware, scattered randomly through kitchen cabinets. Pans clang against each other as he pulls out cookie sheets and mixing bowls he hasn’t used since his family visited, balancing muffin tins back in their precarious positions.

Pekka’s trying to remember if the snickerdoodle recipe can have brown sugar in it when he feels a certain pointy chin poke his shoulder. He tries to hold in his laugh; he can tell Juuse’s standing on his tiptoes to reach this high. He wonders how long it’ll be before Juuse gets annoyed that Pekka’s not paying attention to him.

“Hi,” Juuse says. Barely ten seconds have passed, predictably enough, and Pekka snorts. He throws his arms around Pekka’s waist, tries to playfully headbutt him in the cheek but mostly misses and nudges against his neck instead. “Can I help?”

“Yeah, you can sit on the counter.” Pekka beams at Juuse when he slides around to lean against the counter next to him, mimicking the sunny smile that Juuse gives him so often. Juuse scowls.

“I can do stuff,” Juuse insists. He organizes the cookie sheets and measuring cups in a marginally sensible manner, but not without a lot of clattering. “See?”

Pekka hands Juuse a few eggs in a bowl. “Okay. You can help me crack these.”

Juuse leans over the counter to carefully place the bowl down. “So, uh, like this?”

Getting the dough ready goes much smoother than Pekka had thought it would. The stand mixer definitely helps, since he’s pretty sure that Juuse doesn’t have the attention span for hand-mixing dough. But he’s extra careful with the little tasks he’s assigned, measuring out spices and mixing the cinnamon and sugar together in a bowl. When everything comes together and Pekka’s forming balls of dough, Juuse watches intently.

“There’s no chocolate?” Juuse asks, slightly disdainfully.

“They’re going to be covered in cinnamon sugar,” Pekka says calmly, scooping tablespoons of dough out of the bowl. “They don’t need any chocolate.”

“Can I try, then?” Juuse asks, pointing.

Nodding, Pekka rests the spatula and digs a small piece of dough out with a clean hand. He holds it out for Juuse to take, but Juuse grabs him by the wrist, licks the dough off his fingers. Makes sure to suck Pekka’s fingers clean while he’s at it. He winks.

Pekka clears his throat, carefully pulls his hand out of Juuse’s grasp. “Do you wanna help me roll these in the cinnamon sugar?”

He swears Juuse pouts as he rolls the cookie balls. The cookies turn out fine—great, actually—and even Juuse can’t complain about the lack of chocolate.

 

Pekka’s first shutout of the year comes against the Ducks. It’s actually his first in a while, even if it’s against a fairly weak team. It’s a good way to start the season after the bumpy road of the last year. He’ll take it.

He gets talked into going out with the boys, something Eky insists is a “quick thing” at their local favorite. Pekka knows that there’s absolutely no way it’ll be a quick thing, not with so many of them tagging along, but he figures it’s a good enough idea. They’re a month into the season proper and it’s a long road ahead; they might as well have some fun while they have time.

Juuse tags along. He’s twenty one even if he doesn’t look like it, gets carded at the door with Arvi, the bouncer looking between their faces and their IDs at least four times. Nearly the entire team makes it out, only a few of the guys begging off for other obligations, and they manage to find a couple of booths next to each other.

Mike gets the first and second pitchers for their table, made up of the older guys who spend more time shooting the shit than getting into trouble. Pekka’s a couple pints deep when Juuse finds him an hour and a half later, a half-empty glass in his hand. He tucks up against Pekka’s side, and Pekka’s feeling good enough to let him get away with it in public. Slings his arm over Juuse’s shoulders, smiles when Juuse looks up at him.

“Bored of the kids?” Pekka asks, shaking him gently with the hand he’s got on him.

“Tony’s trying to get everyone to do karaoke,” Juuse says. “I ran away before he could make me go.”

Pekka laughs, presses the side of his head against Juuse’s hair briefly. “What’re you drinking?” He nudges against the drink on the table. It’s bright pink and fizzy, has a cherry skewered with a sword balanced on the rim and a spiral straw.

“I don’t know. Whatever Roman handed me,” Juuse says. He lifts the glass so Pekka can get a hold of the straw with his teeth, takes a sip. It’s almost tooth-achingly sweet, tastes like strawberry jam. Juuse laughs at the face Pekka makes. “Yeah, it’s all sugar. Roman says it’s for how sweet I am.”

“Finnish commune,” Brad says from across the table, rolling his eyes with a smile. “How do we know you aren’t gossiping about us?”

Pekka laughs. “We’re always talking about you. Just making sure he’s having fun too.”

Brad says something like “daddy and son,” the favorite joke in the locker room at the moment, at the same time Mike says, “I’m sure you are.” His eyebrows are raised. Pekka carefully ignores him.

Juuse leans his head against Pekka’s shoulder, and the warmth of his face bleeds through Pekka’s t-shirt. He seems kind of sleepy, and listening to the sort of inanity the older guys talk about probably isn’t helping. He’d rather not have to carry Juuse out when they go. He doesn’t want to give Mike that ammunition.

“Can you get us another pitcher?” Pekka asks, digging in his pocket for his card, waving off Mike’s protests.

Brad and Mike watch him leave, and immediately turn to look at Pekka. Smitty wolf-whistles.

“You’re moving fast,” Mike says, stoic, and Brad snickers next to him.

“I’m not doing anything,” Pekka replies, and he mentally kicks himself for how defensive he sounds. “I’m just making sure he’s good.”

“Yeah,” Cody says, drawing it out, “I think he’s good.” Pekka wants to flip him off. He doesn’t, because he’s being nice today, but he wants to. Mike looks a bit apprehensive, but when Pekka glances at him, he shrugs with one shoulder.

Juuse comes back with the pitcher about five minutes later, with an extra glass for himself. He slides Pekka’s card into his pocket, drops his hand on Pekka’s thigh as he scoots back into the booth. He doesn’t move his hand. Pekka ignores it for a while, fills both of their glasses halfway, talks to Smitty about the best hiking trails he’s managed to find in Nashville. Juuse’s been on two of them, even if he actually hates hiking, and he more or less confirms that they’re the kind of trail Smitty’s looking for. Pekka’s taking another sip when Juuse’s hand crawls up higher, his fingers practically tracing along his inseam.

“You’re feeling bold,” Pekka says with his glass lifted to his face, barely louder than a murmur. From this angle he can’t quite see Juuse’s expression, not until Juuse pulls away a little and tips his head against the back of the booth. He looks _smug_ , insufferably so. Pekka probably shouldn’t think it’s still cute.

“You should take me home,” Juuse says, lightly. In Finnish, so he knows what that sounds like. “I’m kind of tired.”

Juuse’s too close, and even in the dim light Pekka can see the way he’s flushed almost down to his neck. His eyes are blown almost black, bottom lip a little wet and shiny. In that moment Pekka wonders if Juuse knows he’s got him wrapped around his finger. The problem is Pekka thinks he does. The problem is Pekka doesn’t mind.

“Yeah,” Pekka says, finally. “Say goodnight to the boys. They’ll be sad if you leave without them knowing.”

Juuse gets out of the booth, says a cursory goodbye to the rest of the table, and goes to find the other groups, wherever they are.

“Heading home already?” Smitty asks once Juuse’s gone, while Pekka drains the rest of his glass.

“The kid’s tired,” Pekka says with a shrug. “He’s got a bedtime, I guess.”

“Be safe,” Cody says, mild, and Pekka flips him off.

 

They share an Uber home, and Juuse is practically sprawled over Pekka’s lap, head lolling against Pekka’s shoulder. Pekka doesn’t stop him even though he knows he should, because Juuse is a soft line along his side, too warm, too comfortable. This is dangerous, and he knows it.

Instead, Pekka throws his arm over Juuse’s shoulders to keep him close. Juuse is on his phone, humming tunelessly under his breath, brow furrowed as he tries to pass the TwoDots level he’s been stuck on for what feels like weeks. Pekka thinks he could get used to this, Juuse being around all the time, making a space for himself like he’s entitled to it, settling so easily next to Pekka.

It takes Pekka more effort than he’s proud of trying to get into his own house when they’re dropped off. Juuse laughs at him when the door finally opens, and he ducks under Pekka’s arm on his way in. Pekka sighs and closes the door, and Juuse’s leaning against the wall, the perfect image of a lack of subtlety.

“You alright over there?” Juuse asks, and he’s grinning. “Having trouble keeping up?”

Pekka snorts at him. “One day you’ll get tired of the old man jokes,” he says. “That’ll be a good day.”

Pekka trips over something when he turns away from the door, a shoe, his own feet maybe. He takes two quick steps to balance but when he finds his footing again he’s nudged right up against Juuse, catching him between the wall and his body.

“Shit, sorry,” Pekka says. He shakes his head as if to clear it, and the world stops spinning.

Juuse laughs, bright and loud, both hands tangled in Pekka’s sweater in an effort to keep him upright. “It’s fine. I got you.”

It takes them both a second to realize where they are. Pekka looks at him: his head tipped back against the wall to look up. His face is flushed and so hopeful in the dim light that Pekka doesn’t know what he can do if it’s not this. He tilts Juuse’s chin up with his hand, leans down to close the inches still between them.

Juuse makes a soft noise in surprise. He’s too eager when he kisses back, but Pekka holds him to it slow, careful, until Juuse catches on. Juuse’s hands are still clenched in the front of his sweater, pulling him in close like he thinks Pekka will disappear.

There’s that little voice in Pekka’s head, telling him to stop, telling him to end this before it can grow into something he can’t control, but Juuse’s mouth is on his and it’s drowning his thoughts. Pekka pulls away from him, wanting to say _something_ to Juuse, to maybe try to justify what’s happening right now.

Juuse’s looking at him expectantly, eyes wide. “Pekka?” He asks, quietly, the grip on his sweater loosening.

“Fuck,” Pekka says instead.

Juuse still looking at him, searching for something, before he lets go of Pekka’s sweater and drops to his knees. Pekka watches him, his hands almost shaking from—what? Excitement? Nerves? He fights with Pekka’s jeans, fumbling with the button and fly until he can finally pull them halfway down his thighs, hook his fingers into the waistband of Pekka’s boxers. Juuse looks up at him, lips wet and parted, waiting for Pekka to tell him to keep going, to stop. Either answer would make him move.

Pekka breathes out, hard, one hand pulling through Juuse’s hair out of its gelled hold, until strands of it fall softly along his forehead. Juuse leans into his touch, eyes falling shut. The voice in his head is growing louder with every moment, the idea that Juuse, so full of this youthful shyness, would do whatever Pekka wanted and that’s—not _good_ , that’s not something Pekka should be okay with.

“Go ahead,” Pekka says, his voice almost too loud, his throat gone dry. Juuse’s eyes snap open and he nods, slowly slides Pekka’s boxers down his thighs.

Pekka’s barely half-hard but Juuse still swallows when he sees his cock. He glances up before he wraps one hand around the base of Pekka’s cock. And just—stops.

“Have you done this before?” Pekka asks, and Juuse shakes his head. That should be reason enough to stop this. Pull Juuse up and send him to bed, tell him to forget about this all.

Instead, Pekka nods. “That’s fine. I’ll tell you what to do, okay?” Juuse nods at him. “Alright. Get your hand a little wet.”

Pekka watches while Juuse does as he’s told, spits into his hand. He doesn’t wait after that though, jerks Pekka off slowly, glancing up as if to make sure he’s still doing this right, that he’s doing what Pekka wants. This is the easy part. God knows how much Juuse has done this in the privacy of the guest room.

It’s a little while before Pekka is fully hard, a mix of the alcohol still in his system and the fact that he’s not two years shy of being a teenager. Juuse has calmed down a little, no longer as nervous as he was, tilts his head to the side like this is some puzzle to solve and switches up his grip until Pekka’s hand tightens in his hair.

“You can use your mouth now, if you’d like,” Pekka says, quiet. “Take your time. Try your tongue first.”

Juuse dips his head, runs the broad flat of his tongue along the slit of his cock. Pekka hums, his thumb brushing along Juuse’s cheek. He licks again, sharp flicks with the point of his tongue. It’s too light, too gentle to be anything other than mildly frustrating, and all Pekka wants to do is _push_. Clenches his fist instead, nails biting into his palm.

“Good boy,” Pekka says, and Juuse shivers. “You can do a little more.”

Juuse wraps his lips around the head, sucks briefly and tongues along the crown. He flinches at the first taste of precome, bitter on his tongue. He breathes in deeply, slides his mouth down halfway, the head of Pekka’s cock bumping the roof of his mouth. He pulls off for a second, jerks Pekka off a couple times as he wipes at his mouth, clears his throat. He licks at the head before he sinks down a little farther, swallows around the length filling his mouth. A little further, and he gags, throat tight around Pekka’s cock, and he pulls off with a cough. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, looks up at Pekka as if he’s expecting him to be mad, or worse, disappointed. Pekka looks at his wet eyes, the flush high on his cheeks, feels his dick twitch in Juuse’s hand. Shit.

“That’s okay,” Pekka says, soothing. He rubs his thumb along the curve of Juuse’s cheek. “Take your time, okay?”

Juuse takes a deep breath, gets his mouth back on Pekka’s cock. This time he’s barreling down the track, no longer testing everything out. His mouth is making these filthy sounds as he takes Pekka in, the wetness of his lips and tongue on and around the length of Pekka’s cock. Juuse tries to go farther again and again, chokes himself almost every time, spit dribbling down his chin. When he pulls off now there’s a line of spit between his mouth and the head of Pekka’s dick. He wipes at his eyes impatiently, like his blurry eyes are getting in the way. He’s sloppy, unpracticed, _new_ , but there’s something unbearably hot about how eager he is, how badly he wants to make Pekka feel good. Pekka can feel himself get too close too fast, body wound up too tight.

“Come here, Juuse,” Pekka says, voice thready. He pulls lightly on Juuse’s hair, and he clenches his teeth when Juuse moans around his cock.

Juuse shakes his head, pulls off with a pop. “I want to, I want to,” he says, babbling. Pekka knows what he’s asking for.

He pulls him up by his arms anyway, props him up against the wall. He pushes Juuse’s jeans down far enough for him to pull his dick out, hard and leaking at the tip. Wraps Juuse’s hand around the both of them, then folds his own hand over Juuse’s. Starts slow, Juuse panting into the column of his neck, squirming as he looks down at the filthy image of their cocks rubbing slickly against each other.

Juuse comes first, gasping, his free hand clenched around Pekka’s shoulder. Pekka jerks him off through it until he’s twitching away, oversensitive. Pekka tilts Juuse’s chin up, kisses him too roughly, teeth clicking together until the angle is right, finishes himself off with Juuse’s come all over his palm.

It takes a minute for the both of them to come down. Pekka kisses him gently on the corner of his mouth, takes a step back so there’s at least a hint of space between the two of them. Juuse’s still breathing hard when he looks up at him, lips red and spit-slick. Juuse takes Pekka’s hand in both of his, sucks his index and middle finger into his mouth, swirls his tongue over the pads.

“Christ, Juuse,” Pekka mutters. Juuse only hums in response.

Pekka shepherds him up the stairs to his room, gets him into the bathroom and props him up against the counter. He wets a washcloth with water from the tap, warm enough that it won’t be a shock when it touches skin. Helps Juuse take his pants and boxer briefs off before he wipes his stomach and thighs clean, then their hands, before he throws the cloth into the hamper.

“I’m sleeping here?” Juuse asks, already drowsy. It’s only half a question.

“I’m not making you sleep in the guest room after you’ve had my dick in your mouth,” Pekka says, and Juuse laughs quietly under his breath.

Pekka digs in his dresser for things for Juuse to wear; a faded shirt, a pair of boxers. Juuse’s almost swimming in the shirt when he pulls it over his head, and if Pekka could get it up again this fast his dick would probably be a little too interested in the way his name is plastered across Juuse’s back. As it is, Pekka could probably get used to the way he looks in his clothes.

He heads downstairs for some water, and when he comes back with two full glasses Juuse’s done getting dressed, sitting up against the pillows. He looks like he belongs there. He takes a couple of sips from the glass Pekka hands him, watches while Pekka drains his in a few swallows.

“Thirsty?” Juuse asks, eyebrow raised.

Pekka shrugs. “We might have the day off tomorrow but I’m not gonna spend it nursing a hangover.”

Juuse’s already mostly asleep, sagging against the headboard, but he keeps his eyes cracked open as he watches Pekka get undressed and turn the lights off, before he gets into the bed himself. Pekka lays his hand low on Juuse’s back when he shifts to lie down properly, gathers him in close. Juuse is asleep almost immediately, his face tucked into the Pekka’s throat, one hand holding loosely to the back of his neck, but it takes longer for Pekka to drift off. When he does, it’s to the soft cadence of Juuse’s breathing, even and slow.

 

Pekka wakes up when he feels something nudging at his shoulder.

“Mmph.”

“Are you gonna make breakfast?” Juuse asks, and Pekka has to shake the sleep out of his head. For a moment he’s wondering what Juuse is doing in his bedroom—what Juuse is doing next to him in bed. He remembers all at once, the memory of last night crashing down around him. It doesn’t shake the earth, somehow.

“Because if you’re not going to make breakfast,” Juuse continues, “I’m just gonna have to make a mess of your kitchen.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Pekka mumbles. He reaches behind him just to make sure it’s really Juuse, touches the rumpled fabric of his tee, the flaking vinyl under his fingers.

Juuse wraps his arms around Pekka’s middle, presses his face in the space between his shoulder blades. He’s still sleep-warm, body practically a radiator under the sheets, but Pekka holds Juuse’s hand where it’s resting on his belly.

“You have five minutes,” Juuse says, voice muffled. “And then I’m making you scrambled eggs that’re mostly eggshell.”

“Five minutes,” Pekka agrees. He turns in the circle of Juuse’s arms so he can finally look at him. Juuse looks so—soft, pleased. His hair is a mess on the pillows, and Pekka tucks a few strands behind his ear. “Did you sleep okay?”

Juuse hums. “Good. Your bed’s really comfortable. You mumble a little.”

“I’m used to sleeping alone,” Pekka says with a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry if I kicked you a bit.”

Juuse laughs quietly, his thumb rubbing at the fabric over Pekka’s hip. “You were fine. You drank a lot last night, though. You feeling okay?”

“Mm. Plenty of water. Always helps. You?”

Juuse smiles. “I’m feeling great.”

 

Juuse gets sent down the morning they play Ottawa. They’re at the practice rink when he gets the news, but he seems mostly unaffected. He knew this was gonna be the case; just a matter of time, really.

He ambushes Pekka in the empty snack room. Steals a kiss while Pekka is getting a cup of black coffee, leaning up on his tiptoes to press his lips against the corner of Pekka’s mouth. Dry, chaste.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Juuse says—cocky, maybe—with a smile, and he saunters out the room.

Pekka takes a deep breath, watches from the doorway as Juuse heads down the hall. He’ll get a ride to the airport, and then he’ll be gone for however long he needs to be gone. A week, maybe two. He’s staying around more, nowadays.

Pekka lightly touches his mouth before he heads into the locker room and gets back to his routine. He has a game to play.

 

When Juuse comes back, something’s changed.

It probably isn’t his fault. No—Pekka can’t lay the blame on his shoulders. Juuse breezes into his house like it’s nothing, casually gets back into Pekka’s space again. That he can just rattle the seven long years of Pekka’s careful home life isn’t unsettling, but it should be. Pekka isn’t angry about it, but he wants to be, and the fact that he isn’t is perhaps more infuriating.

At home, Juuse tucks his feet under Pekka’s thighs on the couch, touches him on the small of the back when they’re passing each other, clambers into his bed for an afternoon nap. In the locker room he has a little more modesty, keeps a viable space between them, but Pekka has always been hyperaware of his presence. It’s like Juuse has a direct line to him, and it shouldn’t work, but it does.

Suddenly it’s too much, the void Juuse left behind filling in far too quickly. Pekka _wants_ , and he’s scared of how badly he does. With Juuse back in his space it’s like the draw he’s always had has been compounded in a way that Pekka can almost taste, a film on his tongue that he can’t swallow past. His eyes follow Juuse as he leaves the room and he doesn’t know how to tear his gaze away. Juuse wants so much, and Pekka is terrified of it, of fucking this up irreparably. What would Juuse know about getting his heart broken anyway?

Juuse places a hand on his shoulder like he always does, and Pekka breathes, gently shrugs him off. When he can glance at him out of the corner of his eye, Juuse’s face has fallen ever so slightly. He pulls his hand back and clears his throat, shifts one step away. Almost imperceptible, but Pekka knows.

“Do you want me to put these in the pan?” Juuse asks, holding the cutting board with the garlic on it. He doesn’t look Pekka in the eye.

Pekka mumbles about wanting to nap alone, closes the door behind him. He’s still awake when Juuse walks up to his door and stops; he pauses for a moment before his footsteps continue down the hallway. Pekka squeezes his eyes shut and tries to sleep.

It’s easy, in a way, to get Juuse to stop. All Pekka has to do is turn him down every time, come up with some shitty excuse that he knows doesn’t hold water. And yet it’s torturous, Juuse’s face twisting every time, and almost too quickly Juuse doesn’t touch him at all. He sits on the other end of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. Pekka wakes up curved over a pillow tucked in his arms, and he tosses it to the end of the bed.

 

Juuse and Miikka are sitting together, the latter in Pekka’s stall, bumping shoulders and sharing a pair of headphones. They’re laughing, showing each other whatever’s on their phones, but Miikka glances up at him while he’s walking by. It’s only for a brief second before he turns away, and Juuse doesn’t look at him at all.

Pekka finds an open seat in the snack room, sits down heavily with a couple apples. Mike looks over, gives Pekka a nod, goes back to reading. “Where’d your shadow go?”

“He’s sitting with Miikka,” Pekka says, even though he doesn’t want to. Mike’s a good guy but—he was right about this when it started.

Mike just hums in acknowledgement, thumbs through the paper. “Looks like you fucked up, huh?”

“It’s not like that,” Pekka says. “I’m making smart decisions before this gets too far.”

“If you broke his damn heart or something a lot of people are going to be mad at you.” Mike glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Present company included.”

Pekka sighs, wipes a hand over his face. “Yeah, I know that. I’m doing this for him. He hates me now but—maybe in a couple of weeks he’ll look me in the eye again.”

“You talk a lot about what you think he wants,” Mike comments. “Sure don’t talk about what _you_ want out of this.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Pekka replies. “What matters is that he wants me, and that’s—he’s _young_ , Mike. You were right. You still are. This is new to him. That’s all.”

Mike looks at him again and Pekka’s almost sick with how pitying he looks.

“Alright,” he says, finally.

Juuse gets sent back down barely a week into December. Pekka tries not to feel anything about that at all.

 

Juuse comes back to Nashville eventually, the impossibility of his distance growing smaller and smaller with every return. The team likes how he plays, but more importantly—they like _him_ , his shy warmth in the room, the way he almost bubbles over on the ice with this innate desire to prove everyone wrong.

He’s no longer a regular fixture at Pekka’s house, usually going back to Miikka’s after practice and games. He sleeps in the guest room once in a while, usually when he gets kicked off the couch. He has a key that he was given months ago, lets himself in quietly before he slips to his room.

Pekka gives him a wide berth. Makes him meals, even when he doesn’t help anymore and they don’t eat together. He leaves notes on the refrigerator about leftovers, and sometimes Pekka can hear the beep of the microwave from the living room. By the next morning, the plastic containers are in the dishwasher, the note crumpled in the trash can.

It seems ridiculous that he’s been reduced to tiptoeing around his own house, but they seem to have come to the same conclusion. Juuse’s not going to be able to find a place on such short notice, especially with the summer coming up fast, and he can’t expect Miikka to have space for him all the time. He could go stay with someone else, sure, but that would probably require too many questions. _What’s wrong with you and Pekka?_ Too much explanation for something that almost happened and didn’t.

Pekka still misses him. It’s like all he catches anymore are the remnants of Juuse’s existence, like they’re walking in each others’ footsteps. He has to remind himself that he’s doing this for Juuse, that once they both get over whatever this used to be, they’ll both be better for it. At least, he hopes they will.

 

The Christmas break is too short for Pekka to even consider a flight back to Finland. It’s just a few days, barely enough time to leave the state. He sticks around in Nashville, gets some of the other guys staying in town to come over for Christmas dinner. To be honest, Pekka wasn’t sure if he could handle spending a holiday cooped up indoors with Juuse vaguely in his peripherals. Dinner would’ve been torture.

Juuse cautiously helps him in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and turning on the oven light to check on the roast every ten minutes even when Pekka tells him it’ll take a couple of hours. Miikka shows up first, automatically begins helping in the kitchen. He might hate Pekka right now but his parents raised a kid with manners. Juuse and Miikka talk about some new show they’ve been watching together, push back the silence that’s descended on the house.

It’s a quiet thing with just a few of them, but it’s nice nonetheless. Arvi, ever the excellent guest, brings a couple bottles of white wine that they split, and they play video games and watch TV in the living room while pleasantly tipsy.

Juuse, a soft shade of pink and alcohol warm, is flopped on the couch half over Miikka’s lap, his foot poking against Arvi’s thigh. They’re laughing over video game gunfire sputtering out of the sound system, Arvi making protesting sounds of outrage as his character collapses on the screen. Pekka wonders if there’s something there, in the way that Miikka and Juuse look at each other. Tamps down on the surge of jealousy. It’s not his to feel anymore.

The wine hits them eventually, and Pekka wakes up sharply from a doze to a quiet room, Arvi snoring on the couch with his feet dangling over the edge. Pekka hefts himself out of the armchair, stretches out his back with an uncomfortable set of pops, and throws a blanket over Arvi.

Miikka and Juuse are nowhere to be seen. Pekka considers it, his brain sluggishly turning it over, but by the time he flops into bed he’s pushed it out of his mind.

 

Juuse is spending weeks with the Preds this time around, and at the very least Pekka manages to maintain some cool correspondence with him. They talk to each other from time to time, and maybe Juuse can even look at him now. That’s good, Pekka thinks. The faster he moves on, the better.

Juuse gets his first shutout in the last dregs of December. Pekka is awfully proud of him, watches every toe save with baited breath. He’s almost last in the line after the buzzer, hands him the puck and hugs him. Juuse grins at him, something—genuine that hasn’t been directed at Pekka in a while. If skating wasn’t second nature maybe Pekka would stumble, but the jolt that pulses through him isn’t physical anyway.

Pekka gets stopped in the practice rink by the busy-looking film crew who essentially demand entrance into his home. It’s not like Pekka can say no to them either; this is their job, and it’ll be kind of rude if he blew them off. Miikka and Juuse are both supposed to be there–they’ve already been dragged into it. Three Finns, spending time together, right? It’ll be good, they insist.

Juuse turns on the charm for the camera, the way he’s always known how to do. He leans his hands against the counter and talks about what it’s like to play in Pekka’s shadow while the crew films Pekka making dinner. The perfect image of normalcy. Miikka barely does anything at all, doesn’t say a word to the camera, but that’s probably because he’s busy sitting stone-faced across from Pekka. He probably deserves it, to be honest.

But for a moment Pekka can pretend that Juuse will still look him in the eye nowadays. Talks about passing on the torch in any way he can, more about Juuse than Miikka. Smiles half to himself while Juuse recounts living here like he’s not gone half the time.

“It’s great,” Juuse says. “He takes good care of us. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Daddy,” Pekka blurts out, and he’s absolutely mortified. Tries to hide it by grinning at the camera like it’s a joke before he turns to focus too much on the dill he’s cutting up.

There’s a brief pause. “Yeah, he’s my daddy,” Juuse says, calm. He turns to look at Pekka, and there’s–something there in his eyes that Pekka would much, much rather not try to identify.

From across the counter, Miikka coughs politely into his hand.

The crew calls it a wrap after about two hours. Miikka stays for dinner because his stomach rumbled the entire time the salmon was in the oven, even though he glares at Pekka every time they make eye contact. He heads home eventually, but Juuse doesn’t go with him. He’s already here; he might as well stay the night.

“Text me if you still wanna come over,” Miikka says, and he gives Pekka a curt nod before he leaves. Pekka still feels warmth for him, taking care of the people around him in whatever way he can. He misses being on Miikka’s good side, really.

“Do you want me to help with the dishes?” Juuse asks, and Pekka shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I can do it.”

Juuse nods before he heads up the stairs to his room. Pekka watches him for a moment before he starts cleaning up the counter.

 

Everything’s syrupy slow, warm and muffled like cotton. He has his face pressed against skin, can feel the rise and fall of a chest. The body under him moves with him, makes these quiet, breathless sounds. Pekka’s hands run down soft thighs, feels ankles lock together at the small of his back. There’s words, someone speaking, but he can’t be sure if it’s him or not.

Fingers touch his cheek, and Pekka tilts his head up. Juuse looks at him, eyes soft. The hand moves down to touch the line of Pekka’s jaw, the pads of his fingers rasping almost too loudly against the stubble on his chin. His hand stops, keeping Pekka’s head up, making him _look_. He opens his mouth to speak.

Pekka wakes suddenly, watery morning light streaming through the window blinds. He hefts himself upright. He needs to get up for practice, needs to make breakfast, needs to do a hundred things before he leaves the house, but all he wants to do is sit and stare at his rumpled sheets.

 

Pekka gets pulled at home against Calgary.

It’s a shitty situation with an even shittier scoreboard. Juuse goes in after the fourth goal, a top corner snip past traffic. He manages to give the team a chance, at least; stems the bleeding just long enough for Fil to get them on top, then lets in the goal that ties the game. In overtime the puck bounces off of Joey and in. He never had a chance on that one. At least they get a point.

When Pekka gets out of the arena, Juuse’s waiting by his car. “Miikka’s girlfriend is over,” he says, short. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Pekka nods at him. He can’t tell if he wants to be alone or not, but he’s too tired to shoo Juuse away as he climbs into his car. He’s never asked to come over, not the past few weeks. Pekka isn’t in the right place to think about it that hard.

The drive home is awkward. He doesn’t know if it’ll be even more awkward if he turns on the radio, so he leaves it and almost regrets it when the silence descends immediately. Juuse’s flicking through his phone, leaning against the window, clearly not in the mood to talk. And anyway Pekka wouldn’t know what to say if he was going to strike up a conversation. Thankfully the drive back isn’t very long.

“I had your room done yesterday when the cleaners came over,” Pekka says, turning on the hallway light. “I made sure they left everything the way you had it, though.”

“Thanks,” Juuse replies, shrugging off his suit jacket.

Pekka retreats to the safety of his room, closes the door behind him. Running away in his own house, he thinks, before he shakes the thought out of his head. He’s just doing what he usually does, let Juuse have the space he needs. He sits on his bed with a sigh, stares down at the floor between his feet. Bad losses don’t cling to him, usually. Can’t burn yourself out like that, dwelling on good and bad nights. This time around, though, it seems to want to stay, like something stuck in his throat he can’t swallow.

He undresses slowly, tries to get lost in the method of getting his suit hung up. He doesn’t need to shower, not when he already did in the locker room, but it might make him feel better if he considered it, at least.

There’s a quiet knock at his door. Pekka freezes, holding the clothes hanger with his dress shirt on it in one hand. It’s clearly Juuse; it couldn’t be anyone else. Pekka has half a mind to keep his door shut, let him stand there until he gets impatient and leaves. He sighs, hangs up his shirt and opens the door.

Juuse’s dressed down to his pajamas, his own clothes this time, holding two cups of tea. “Mind if I come in?”

Pekka looks at him, nods and opens the door wider. Juuse hesitates in the middle of the room before he sits on the edge of Pekka’s bed, holds out one of the cups. Pekka takes it, if only to have something to do with his hands.

“Thanks for cleaning my room,” Juuse says.

Pekka hums in acknowledgement, takes a sip of his tea. It’s mostly water, although the warmth of it is soothing. The silence stretches between them, but it’s not as uncomfortable as it could be. Small victories.

“You did good tonight,” Pekka says finally. “You held it together.” He almost says _I’m proud of you_ , but he bites it back at the last second. Too much at once.

Juuse shrugs. “There’s a new episode of _Sorjonen_ we haven’t seen.” It’s not an answer. A tentative peace offering, maybe. “We can watch that, if you want.”

“Sure,” Pekka says. “I don’t think I’m falling asleep anytime soon.”

Pekka goes to change out of the rest of his clothes while Juuse puts it on. When he comes out of the bathroom, Juuse’s settles on one side of the bed. The distance between them is almost a chasm, but it’s a start, Pekka guesses.

 

Pekka wakes with a start. He’s disoriented for second, unsure why the lights are on, why he feels unusually warm. It must be late; it certainly doesn’t feel like morning yet. A quick check of his nearly-dead phone tucked under his pillow says it’s just about to turn three. He wipes at his eyes, blinks the sleep out of them.

There’s a slight movement next to him. Juuse is curled up on his side, so close Pekka would barely have to reach out to touch him. He looks soft, so comfortable with the sheets pulled up almost to his neck, and Pekka is struck suddenly by how badly he wants this, wants Juuse.

Pekka shifts to plug his phone in and turn off the lamp on the bedside table, drenching the room in near-darkness. When he turns back, Juuse’s eyes are open, reflecting the hallway light. He looks up at Pekka, probably a little confused himself. His eyes soften at first before he remembers the ugliness of the past months, and his face draws back into that look so familiar to Pekka these days. Cold, maybe, but something else underneath, something exhausted, hurt. Heart on his sleeve, like always.

Pekka doesn’t know why he does it, except maybe he does. Runs his thumb up the curve of Juuse’s cheekbone, tucks a curl of hair behind his ear. Juuse lets him, closes his eyes for a moment before Pekka draws his hand back, feeling—of all things—nervous.

Juuse’s hand touches his under the covers, and Pekka barely has the time to get his mouth open to say something, anything, before Juuse’s mouth is on his.

He kisses soft at first, barely anything more than their lips brushing together. Pekka lets him, and it makes him bold; Juuse tilts his head and presses forward, Pekka’s mouth opening under his. Juuse bites at his lip, sharp enough for Pekka to flinch, but Juuse follows him. Kisses like he’s inescapable, which—which he is. And hasn’t Pekka known that all along?

Juuse tangles their legs together, one thrown over Pekka’s, ankle locked around his shin. Pekka follows the curve of his thigh, soft touch of his fingers along warm skin, and Juuse shivers in his arms. He shoves at Pekka’s shoulder until he’s on his back and Juuse can sit on his thighs, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of Pekka’s head. Pekka reaches up, brushes his thumb against Juuse’s cheek, then down to cup his jaw. His thumb rests against Juuse’s lower lip, and he watches as Juuse’s tongue swirls around it before he nips at the pad.

“Is this okay?” Pekka asks, voice quiet. “We can stop whenever you want.”

Juuse nods. “I want this,” he says. Then, a little shy, “Um, I showered. If you were wondering.”

“You do smell nice,” Pekka agrees, and he hopes the way Juuse’s words took the air out of him doesn’t show. Juuse shoves weakly at his shoulder, but Pekka can’t help but echo the smile on his face.

“How do you—” Juuse licks his lips, looks off to the side before turning back. “You’re the one who knows what we’re doing.”

“We can start with you on your back,” Pekka suggests. He runs his hands up the soft flannel of Juuse’s pants, until his thumbs dip just beneath his shirt. “And you can come back up here later, if you’d like.”

Juuse nods, and Pekka watches him slip out of his shirt before he gets comfortable on the bed. Pekka leans over him, careful not to drop too much of his weight onto Juuse’s body. He kisses Juuse’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth, drags his lips up the line of his jaw to stop just under his ear. Juuse’s hand is holding loosely to the front of Pekka’s shirt, but his fingers tighten when Pekka scrapes his teeth against the skin.

“Your beard tickles,” Juuse says, laughing almost breathlessly.

Pekka hums, smiling, begins moving his way down Juuse’s body. He bites gently, leaving a trail of pink marks behind from his teeth and stubble. Nothing that will last the night. He rests his chin on Juuse’s belly, his hands curved around his hips. Juuse’s already breathing hard, barely with any effort on Pekka’s part. He sits up and back on his heels, pulls Juuse’s pants down to his knees, and Juuse lifts his legs to help slide them the rest of the way off. He’s half-hard already, and Pekka can’t help but breathe out a laugh. To be twenty-one again.

“What,” Juuse mumbles, haughty. “This is your fault.”

Pekka doesn’t say anything, just leans down again to bite along the cut of Juuse’s hip, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the fabric-covered swell of his dick. Juuse sighs, caught somewhere between want and impatience. Pekka knows he can’t keep Juuse waiting for long anyway; he pulls Juuse’s boxers down and off his legs. Takes a moment to just admire, gaze sweeping down the cut of his body, muscles shifting under the skin.

“Are you ever gonna take your clothes off?” Juuse asks, frowning, but Pekka can see the blush rapidly spreading over his cheeks.

Pekka clucks his tongue. “Impatient.”

Juuse rolls his eyes. “You already knew that.” He sits up, pulls on the hem of Pekka’s shirt. “Off.”

Pekka lifts his arms, lets Juuse pull the fabric over his head, watches him throw the shirt somewhere onto the floor. Juuse makes a pleased sound as Pekka gently pushes him back down to the bed. He knees down his body, kisses just under Juuse’s belly button, and Juuse hooks both legs over his shoulders, heel knocking against his back.

Pekka takes the head of Juuse’s dick into his mouth without preamble. It’s incredibly gratifying to hear the way that Juuse inhales when Pekka does it. He sucks gently, barely hollowing his cheeks, and Juuse’s breath hitches. He shields his teeth with his lips, slides down far enough for his nose to brush against skin, back up to tongue just under the head. Juuse’s short fingernails scratch through his hair, trying to get a hold on the length as Pekka moves. He’s making these tiny sounds as Pekka moves—soft pressure that, if anyone did it to Pekka, would have him almost twitching with impatience—but Juuse’s rocking gently into his mouth. Pekka pulls off, licks down his length to nose along the crease of his balls. He hitches Juuse up higher, bending him back the way he knows he’s flexible enough for, until his knees are touching his shoulders. Pekka looks down at his face: he’s flushed almost down to his neck, the warmth of his skin vibrant even in the weak light slanting through the room.

He cocks his head at Juuse, considering, and Juuse’s staring back at him, chest rising and falling rabbit-quick. Pekka’s never been one for meanness, per se. He knows he’s not a particularly good person—Juuse is proof enough of that—but there’s probably something decent about him. And yet there’s something about Juuse that just makes him want to push. It has to be from the knowledge that Juuse will give back as good as he gets, demand more, and Pekka wants to find out the exact moment when he begs.

He doesn’t break eye contact when he spreads Juuse’s ass with his hands and runs his tongue up the crease. Juuse almost jumps, and he just manages to bite back a moan.

“Never done that before?” Pekka asks, and Juuse shakes his head quickly. It was a dumb question, really; Pekka should know better than anyone that all of this is still new to him.

He hums, does it again, careful flicks of his tongue against Juuse’s hole, presses just the tip of his tongue past the muscle. Juuse whimpers, the arch of his foot curving against Pekka’s shoulder before it slides down to dangle against Pekka’s back. Pekka switches between long, broad swathes and flicks of his tongue, follows the hitching sounds escaping Juuse’s throat. He shudders when Pekka licks further inside, his face pressed against Juuse’s ass. Juuse tries desperately to do _something_ , push back, pull away. His calves are straining weakly at Pekka’s back with his legs. He’s strong, thick thighs twitching under Pekka’s hands, but he doesn’t have enough leverage.

“Stop, stop,” Juuse gasps, overwhelmed. Pekka pulls away immediately, turns his face to kiss the muscle of Juuse’s thigh. “Fuck.”

Pekka gently sets his body down on the bed, leans down to kiss and bite softly at the muscles of his stomach, waiting for him to calm down a bit. He’s breathing so hard, and Pekka would almost feel bad for him.

“I want you to fuck me,” Juuse says, finally, a little bossy for someone who just had a tongue in their ass for the first time. Pekka slides up and kisses the center of his chest, looks up at him. Juuse’s fingers run down the line of his jaw, just waiting.

“Have you ever done anything like that?” Pekka asks.

“A little,” Juuse says slowly. “Fingers, sometimes.”

“I can do it like this, but some other position might be better,” Pekka tells him. “It’s easier on your hands and knees.”

“Can I–get in your lap again?” Juuse says, quiet. Doesn’t look embarrassed or anything by his admission; just—certain. “I want to see you.”

“Okay,” Pekka says after a second, because he’s never actually figured out how to deny Juuse anything. His brain helpfully provides that the it might be easier on Juuse too, but he’s not sure if he can trust its recommendation, not when he knows the image of Juuse riding his cock might actually kill him. “Okay.”

Pekka moves over to the nightstand, finds a mostly-empty bottle of lube and a couple of condoms hidden in the depths, drops the packets somewhere to the side. He leans back against the headboard, uncaps the bottle while Juuse sit on his thighs. Juuse leans down to kiss the tip of Pekka’s nose, arms bracketing Pekka’s head, keeping him as close as he can.

“Just breathe, okay?” Pekka murmurs. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“I know,” Juuse says. He looks at Pekka and nods. “I know.”

“You can keep talking, if you’d like.” He dribbles lube into his hand, warms it by rubbing it between his palms. It’ll keep him preoccupied for a little while, at least.

“Oh, um.” Juuse twists his head to look behind him so he can watch what Pekka’s doing. “I don’t do this that often, I guess. The fingers, I mean. It’s hard to find the time? Like, you have to put it in your schedule.”

Pekka laughs softly, kisses Juuse’s cheek. He touches his fingers just behind Juuse’s balls, holds him steady when he twitches.

“It’s okay,” Pekka murmurs, running his free hand up and down Juuse’s thigh. “It’s okay, I got you.”

Juuse breathes, nods. The tip of one finger is easy from Pekka’s tongue, sliding past his rim with slight pressure, to the first knuckle. Juuse breathes out shakily as Pekka pushes deeper inside of him. He hitches up slightly, his dick rubbing smears of pre-come against Pekka’s belly.

“This might be easier if you come first,” Pekka says.

Juuse shakes his head. “I can hold out, I think.”

Pekka nods, pulls his finger out almost all the way before he sinks it in down to the base. Juuse bites his lip, rocking so, so gently. Pekka touches a second finger to his rim, not pushing in yet, just testing, but he can tell that it won’t take much. A little more pressure than the first, but eventually he can push both fingers in to the second knuckle. Juuse kisses him distractedly, little nips to his mouth that sting.

“Fuck, your hands are—” Juuse swallows, breathes out. “It’s a lot more than I thought it would be.”

“We can stop,” Pekka says, his words pressed into Juuse’s throat where he’s warm and damp with sweat. “You’ve been so good for me already.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t just say that,” Juuse murmurs, shivering. He licks his bottom lip, already shiny with spit. “I’m fine. I wanna keep going.”

Pekka doesn’t know what to do if it isn’t what he asks for. He bites softly against the line of Juuse’s throat as his third finger nudges against him, tucked up against his other fingers. Juuse’s squirming against Pekka’s body, so much so that Pekka wraps his arm around Juuse’s waist to hold him as still as he can. Juuse already feels so stretched out that Pekka’s worried at first that it won’t fit as he gently pushes against Juuse’s rim, just barely breaching him. Juuse breathes, forcing his breaths into something resembling even, and Pekka slides his fingers in slowly, so slowly.

Juuse _moans_ , his arms tightening around Pekka’s neck. His eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open while he pants. His rocking has gotten more urgent, pressing back against Pekka’s fingers and forward for the relief, however little of it there is, of his dick rubbing against Pekka’s abs. Pekka can’t help but stare at his face as he pushes his fingers in and out, deeper every time. Struck suddenly by this beautiful, perfect boy, letting him do this to him.

“That’s enough,” Juuse says suddenly, his voice clipped, hand reaching back to hold Pekka’s wrist. He tugs on the hair at the back of Pekka’s head so he tilts up to look at him, at the certainty in his eyes. “I’m ready for it.”

Pekka opens his mouth to disagree. Juuse isn’t—Pekka is certain that he’s rushing into this, like he rushes into so many things. He knows there’s a way to do this that’s _soft_. Juuse shakes his head at him, and Pekka can’t disagree with him. Selfishly he wants it like this, wants Juuse sweating as he takes Pekka’s cock, and he thinks that Juuse wants that too.

He fumbles in the sheets, his fingers finding a foil packet. He rips it open in the space between their bodies, then reaches behind Juuse to roll the condom over his cock blindly. More lube, too much, cold dripping down his balls, but he shifts to line himself up with Juuse’s hole.

“Take your time, okay?” Pekka says. “Make sure you’re comfortable first.”

Juuse rests one hand on Pekka’s shoulder, and slowly drops his weight down. Pekka holds himself steady, waits for Juuse to set the pace; it’s easier for him, figuring out what works and what doesn’t. Juuse frowns as the head glances against his hole, his body resisting. Pekka almost wants to make him stop, hold him by the arms and tell him what they should be doing. But Juuse presses down a little harder, then a little more, and the head of Pekka’s cock pushes past his rim torturously slowly. The noise Juuse makes as Pekka slides inside him is—it’ll haunt him for a long time, Pekka thinks.

“I’ve got you, it’s alright,” Pekka murmurs. Juuse’s holding still, his eyes squeezed shut, and Pekka wants nothing else than to push up into the tight heat of his body. He forces himself to hold still. Runs his hands up and down Juuse’s thighs soothingly instead, watches his face for discomfort.

“You’re a lot,” Juuse says, and he makes a soft, gasping sound. “Just–give me a second, I can do this.”

Juuse carefully lifts up onto his knees until Pekka nearly slides out, then pushes back down onto his cock, deeper this time. The first few times he’s trying to figure out what angle works better than the others, which one makes him _keen_. Sinking lower every time, until Pekka’s balls are grazing against his ass. His nails are digging into Pekka’s shoulders, too short to scratch or hold on, just pressed into the skin almost hard enough to bruise. He’s tight, almost unbearably so, but he feels so fucking good dragging against Pekka’s cock. The part of his brain that’s always had reservations about this is worried he didn’t stretch him out enough, that Juuse doesn’t know any better when it comes to whether or not this feels like how it should.

But Juuse’s so loud, every movement, no matter how small, ripping more than a whimper from his throat. His head’s tilted back, throat a long line in Pekka’s vision, and he wants so badly to _bite_ , to sink his teeth into the warm skin, to leave a mark that no one could miss. Instead, he presses his open mouth to it, scrapes his teeth so gently it leaves nothing behind but a few lines that’ll fade quickly. Juuse’s getting bold now, figured out the angle that feels the best for him, getting more reckless as he rides Pekka’s cock.

When Pekka reaches down to jerk Juuse off his hand touches a wet smear, then the half-hard shape of Juuse’s dick. He stares down at the space between them, his night vision good enough now that he knows what he’s seeing but–he just can’t quite believe it.

“Did you already come?” Pekka asks. Juuse doesn’t look at him, his eyes squeezed shut. Pekka nudges his hand against Juuse’s chin, and Juuse blinks his eyes open.

“I—” Juuse says after a pause. He swallows. “When you, um, when you first went in.”

“Fuck, Juuse,” Pekka says. This whole time. “Are you too sensitive? We should stop, just—”

“Please don’t,” Juuse whispers, and his voice shakes. “I like it, I really do. I think—I could come again.”

Pekka stares in wonder at his face. He’s looking back at him so earnestly, the flush high on his cheeks, sweat dripping at his temples. Pekka wonders if—he wraps his hand around Juuse’s cock. Barely anything more than a loose circle. Juuse twitches away, his body clenching around Pekka, but then he’s pushing into the loose grasp of Pekka’s fist. When Pekka strokes him gently, Juuse’s dick twitches in his hand, and his face twists with confusion. So torn between the discomfort and the way it feels, a feedback loop that shouldn’t feel good.

And Pekka knows he shouldn’t push, but. He trails a finger back to where Juuse’s rim is stretched obscenely around his cock, relishes in the way that Juuse almost flinches. He’s slowed down until he’s just squirming, can’t focus on riding Pekka’s cock and what he’s doing now. But Pekka presses against him, Juuse’s rim almost yielding to the pressure, and Juuse gasps.

“It’s too much, I can’t–” Juuse breathes out shakily. “I can’t, Pekka.”

“You can,” Pekka murmurs, coaxing. “You’ll do it for me, won’t you?”

Juuse’s mouth drops open. His eyes are glassy, and he’s trying desperately to focus. “I, maybe, I don’t...”

“You’ll do it for daddy, right?” Pekka says, voice dropping, and Juuse _whimpers_. Like he can’t help it, like he didn’t think Pekka would know. It was a joke at first, but when Pekka said it the look that flashed across Juuse’s face was indescribable. Hot, guilty want, something Juuse might’ve thought to figure heavily in fantasies and not here, not in Pekka’s bed. And it hasn’t been something for Pekka to act on, but now that he’s here he can feel his cock jump where it’s seated deep inside Juuse’s body, more from Juuse’s reaction than anything else.

“Don’t, I–” Juuse shakes his head. His face has practically turned scarlet. He says desperately, “I’d never, I wouldn’t call you that.”

Juuse’s shaking his head still, but Pekka can feel his cock hard in his hand. He might be ashamed of this but he wants it, and Pekka just. A light push, that’s all.

“It’s okay, Juuse,” he says. He strokes Juuse’s dick, runs his thumb over the bead of pre-come dribbling out the slit, and he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be guilty. You can say it.”

Juuse opens his mouth, closes it. He might be close to tears, and Pekka doesn’t–he doesn’t care, and he should be afraid of that, the fact that all he wants is to see Juuse snap. That he wants to be the person who does it. Juuse breathes out _what the fuck_ , shakes his head as he stares down.

Pekka waits there with him, practically holding his breath, while the silence stretches between them. He’s almost thinking that he made the wrong decision, that he read this whole situation wrong when he finally hears it.

“Daddy,” Juuse whispers, his voice shaking. And it’s like the dam has broken, and all he can do is say over and over, helplessly, “Daddy, daddy–”

“That’s right,” Pekka says, and he can’t help the pride bleeding into his voice. He pushes harder, and his finger slips past Juuse’s rim while his hand moves faster, and Juuse is choking out these sounds like he’s trying to force them back inside himself. “That’s right. Come on daddy’s cock for me, Juuse.”

Juuse does like it’s been pulled out of him, hitching sobs as his cock jerks weakly, dribbling come on Pekka’s belly. Pekka can’t help his rasping groan, Juuse’s body clenching so perfectly around him. Juuse leans his forehead against Pekka’s shoulder, breathing hard there for a moment before he tries to lift up again, sinks back down immediately. His thighs are shaking under Pekka’s hands, and he just doesn’t have the strength anymore. Pekka’s so close, and Juuse’s trying so hard but he just _can’t_.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Juuse whispers. “D—Pekka, you have to–”

Pekka wraps both arms around Juuse’s waist, thrusts up into the heat of him. Juuse fucking wails with it, Pekka’s too rough and Juuse’s too sensitive, but he’s holding Pekka tight against him, a string of nonsensical pleading just pouring from his mouth. Pekka pants against Juuse’s skin, and it’s almost a relief when he comes, the feeling of it flooding his body, his face pressed into the heated skin of Juuse’s collar.

Pekka tips the both of them forward when he finally has control of his limbs, until Juuse’s lying on his back in the sheets. Pekka rolls off of him, trying to catch his breath again.

“Hold on,” Pekka says with a groan, heaving himself upright before he can get too comfortable. “Let me clean you up.”

Juuse hums, turns his head to watch Pekka as he shuffles his way to the bathroom. He gets rid of the condom in the wastebasket, cleans himself off with a towel before he grabs another one to wet under the faucet. Juuse’s sprawled out against the sheets, body dotted with the fading marks Pekka left behind. It’s a good picture. Pekka knees his way onto the bed, lets Juuse pull him into a kiss as he wipes Juuse clean.

“Thanks,” Juuse says, already half-asleep. His nails scratch pleasantly against the hair at the back of Pekka’s neck, and Pekka kisses him a last time before he gently turns Juuse until he’s lying the right way on the bed. Pulls the covers up over the both of them.

Pekka gathers him into his arms, lets Juuse tuck his head under Pekka’s chin. It’s too easy to drift off, the feeling of Juuse in his arms just right.

 

Pekka jolts out of his sleep, too warm under the covers. Juuse’s a soft shape pressed next to him, and Pekka can feel his shallow breaths under his arm. Pekka wants to doze, press his face to the bare expanse of his neck, run his hands over his body. Doesn’t want to think about where they are, or why they’re here—just bask in the heat of him. He slides out from under the covers instead, careful not to disturb Juuse.

He looks at himself in the mirror once he makes it into the bathroom and has the door closed behind him. There’s a lurid bruise on his neck where Juuse had sucked a mark. Pekka touches it, winces at the slightly raw sensation. Other than that, he looks—almost normal. A little tired, but that seems about right. Like he didn’t just spend the night fucking his understudy until he cried.

Jesus. That’s not the right way to think about it.

He splashes water on his face, brushes his teeth. Tries not to think about Juuse lying peacefully in his bed, what they’ll have to say to each other. He dresses, t-shirt and underwear, and goes downstairs instead, gets the coffee on. They still have practice later in the morning too. The usual comfort of his routine just isn’t there, dimmed by–everything.

Juuse wanders downstairs eventually, while Pekka is staring at his cooling coffee, trying to rehearse. He’s wearing Pekka’s shirt again, yawns as he sits up onto the barstool on the other side of the island. He murmurs a greeting, takes the coffee mug that Pekka hands him.

“I think we should talk about last night,” Pekka says.

Juuse glances at him as he takes another sip of coffee. “Are you going to freeze me out again?” he asks, his voice held carefully neutral. “Because we can stop now, if you’re going to do that.”

“No, Juuse—” Pekka bites off his own words. Fuck. He clears his throat, tries again. “No, it happened.”

“Good to hear,” Juuse mutters. He sighs. “What is it?”

“We were both in a bad place,” Pekka says carefully. “I’m worried I took advantage of you. If you feel that way about what we did, then—”

“I think only one of us was in a bad place, but okay,” Juuse says, his voice edging on something spiteful. “What makes you think you took advantage of me?”

“I’m just trying to say that if you regret it, you should let me know.” Pekka looks at him, the way that his hands lie flat on the counter. “If I pushed too far, or if I did anything you didn’t want. If you just needed to let off some steam, or... I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Juuse stands abruptly, his barstool scraping against the tile, and paces the length of the kitchen. He’s _angry_ in a way that Pekka has never seen off the ice; he’s certainly never had that anger directed at him.

“When will you stop treating me like a kid?” Juuse spits. “I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.” Juuse stops and looks at him, fists clenched at his sides. He deflates so suddenly, the fight gone out of him as quickly as it came. “I want you. Why do you think I don’t?”

Pekka opens his mouth, but he shuts it without saying a word. How can he respond to that?

“You won’t say anything.” He laughs, humorless. “Every time we get close to something you push me away, and you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“You know I want you,” Pekka says, quietly. “You know I do.”

Juuse scoffs. “You’ve got a weird fucking way of showing it.”

“It’s complicated.” Pekka pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t just—just let this happen, the way you want it to. It doesn’t work that way.”

“How would you know?” Juuse says, his voice shaking. God, he’s about to cry. “You won’t even give this a chance and you act like you already know everything.”

“Juuse—”

“Forget it.” He wipes impatiently at his eyes. “I really thought—maybe I would stop wanting you so badly. Maybe you were right to act like I’m just naive.”

Everything inside him wants nothing more than to hold Juuse close to him, to tell him that this isn’t his fault, that it could never be. He grabs onto the edge of the counter, forces himself to stay still, keep his voice even when he says, “It’s never been my intention to hurt you, or—or make you feel like I don’t care about you.”

“You’re a really, really bad liar.” Juuse sits again like he’s been wrung dry, incapable of standing any longer. He breathes unsteadily, his face buried in his hands. When he speaks again, it’s so quiet Pekka doesn’t know if he was meant to hear it. “I was so afraid of you not wanting me the same way that I want you. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that you don’t want me at all.”

“I’m not lying when I say I want you. I _do_. But you’re just—you’re so young, Juuse,” Pekka says, and he’s expecting it when Juuse opens his mouth to contradict. “You know what I mean. You can’t think that I don’t care about you. You know I do. But we’re in two different places in our lives. What do we do if this doesn’t work out?” He swallows. “I don’t think I would know how to move on from you if you left.”

“You just have to give us a chance,” Juuse says. “You keep thinking about how it’ll end, but you won’t give it a chance.”

He looks so vulnerable, so _lost_ , all that bravado he once had evaporating in the face of this, the decision he doesn’t have the ability to make between a clear end and a future, however uncertain, but a future nonetheless. This is him laying his cards on the table, like he always has. And Pekka doesn’t know how Juuse would still want him after what he’s done, but he _does_ , and maybe this is his life nudging him in the right direction. He’s had enough of denial, of convincing himself that this is something he can’t have. He’s tired of guarding himself and hurting Juuse in the process, this kid who looks at him and sees someone worth fighting for. Juuse wants a chance. He deserves as much. He deserves everything Pekka could possibly give to him.

“Come here,” Pekka says, almost helpless. “Juuse, please come here.”

Juuse stares at him for a second before he covers the steps that separate them. He almost folds into Pekka’s body, arms wrapping around Pekka’s middle. When Juuse looks up at him, his eyes are still wet, but he smiles wobbily, that warmth bleeding back into his face. Pekka carefully wipes at his cheek with his thumb, leaving a smear of wet behind.

“You’re right. You’re the smartest one out of us,” Pekka says, and Juuse laughs briefly. “I trust you, and I haven’t shown you that I do. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I’m going to make sure I do better.”

“It’s a low bar,” Juuse mumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Pekka murmurs, while Juuse buries his face against Pekka’s chest. “I really am. In the moment I thought it would be best for the both of us. I hurt you instead.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Juuse says, his voice muffled. He sniffles, breathes out hard. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”

Pekka laughs softly, kisses Juuse’s forehead, then the knuckles of his hand. “I really am.”

 

For what it’s worth, Juuse sticks around. He doesn’t get sent back down again after mid-February. The coaching staff is happy with him, and they want him there as they hunker down for playoffs. He tells Pekka so once he gets out of the meeting with Lavy, almost shy with the excitement bubbling under his skin. Asks, quietly, if he’s allowed to stay in Pekka’s house still.

Juuse’s managed to move a surprising amount of stuff to Miikka’s, whether from Pekka’s or his own apartment in Milwaukee, and he begins the arduous task of repopulating Pekka’s house with his things again. He brings box after box with him, some weird snacks cluttering Pekka’s cabinets, a truly unnecessary amount of trackpants almost always strewn on the floor.

“I talked to Miikka,” Juuse says, opening a cardboard box on the floor of the living room, pulling out new tangles of cables. Pekka had just gotten used to freely moving around the room without tripping on anything, and now he’s probably going to bleed out on the floor of his own house. “He’s not gonna try to, I don’t know. Murder you with his eyes anymore.”

“That’s a relief,” Pekka mutters. He kneels on the carpet, helps dig out a console.

“He was just saying that he’d rather be on my side, because if anything the two of us together would win really easily in a fight against you,” Juuse says. “Which I think is right.”

“I’m too old to fight,” Pekka says, puts the console on the floor and tries to figure out what cable goes where. “But I’m glad he chose the right side.”

“What can I say,” Juuse says cheerfully, slipping an arm around Pekka’s waist. “I guess he just likes me more.”

“Everyone does.” Pekka kisses the top of his head.

 

Juuse’s reticent at first when it comes to showing affection, understandably worried that Pekka will go cold on him again. He leaves a few careful inches between them on the couch, waits for Pekka to bridge the gap. And he does, every chance he gets, throws his arm over Juuse’s shoulders to pull him in close, leans their heads against each other. Juuse makes a quiet, pleased sound, settles comfortably against his side.

Pekka wouldn’t expect Juuse to trust him in a matter of weeks. The fact that he does is just–maybe he would call it naive, even if he doesn’t want to. And it _is_ , but Pekka has no intention of ever doing that to Juuse again. He’s in it for good, better or worse. Juuse warms slowly but perceptibly, dodging a little closer. And here he is, back in their home, moving around him comfortably like he never left.

Pekka goes to bed early most nights, spends an hour or so reading as part of his routine. Juuse’s almost never the first one in bed but he follows him up eventually, closing the door behind him as he yawns. He flops into the other side of the bed, hums contentedly as he wriggles into the crook of Pekka’s arm, stretches a cold hand under his shirt.

Sometimes he dozes off first–one leg hooked over Pekka’s, too tired to wait for him to finish a particularly compelling chapter–but most of the time Juuse’s entrance is Pekka’s cue to put the book away. Leaves it opened flat on the nightstand as he turns off the light and shifts his body to face Juuse. If he wants attention, Pekka has no problem giving it to him.

Juuse kisses him slow, his hand curved around the back of Pekka’s neck, rolls both of them over so Pekka’s on top of him. He likes Pekka’s size, likes how Pekka can hold him down with just the weight of his body. They’ve put their size difference to good use more than once.

Pekka pulls away eventually, rests their foreheads together. Juuse strains up, nips ineffectually in the space between them. Pekka just rests a little more weight on him, stops him from moving.

Juuse huffs. “You never wanna make out as long as I want to. You know I could go elsewhere.”

“Debatable. What, do you think Eky would do this with you all the time?” Pekka pauses. “That’s assuming you’d want to kiss Eky.”

“Of course I would,” Juuse says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s Eky.”

“You have a type,” Pekka comments. He’s not jealous. Just–curious, maybe. It’s possible that he’s still uncertain about this, about what would happen if they ever stopped working as well as they do together. He doesn’t like to think about it, but he can’t say it’s not at the back of his mind. He says, half-jokingly, “Big, extremely handsome men.”

Juuse rolls his eyes. “My type is you, dumbass,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _oh_.” Juuse says, lightly mocking. He tilts his head at Pekka. “I really am the smarter one.”

“We both knew that,” Pekka says, and he dips down to kiss him again.

 

Pekka’s getting his toiletries out of his suitcase when his phone beeps a few times in succession. He’s got texts from Nealer, which is weird enough; usually he has no problems sending rapid-fire texts in the groupchat, regardless of whether it applies to everyone or not.

He’s sent a picture, and Pekka has to squint at it for a second before he realizes what it is. It’s Juuse wearing Pekka’s shirt, the one he insists on sleeping in, though never on the road. Yet here he is, flaking vinyl letters like a brand across Juuse’s back. He’s not looking at the camera, too caught up in whatever’s happening on the laptop screen, but Arvi is in the corner of the frame. He’s got a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, gives the camera a thumbs up.

 _explain_ , James’ text says. Pekka’s screen is full of digital confetti. He regrets letting Juuse update his phone.

 _I think you can figure it out Nealer_ , Pekka texts back.

Pekka’s phone buzzes less than a minute later, then a second time. _Matty owes me sooo much money lol_

_Your in it fucking deep aren’t you? dumbass :)_

Pekka looks at the text for a moment. Thinks about what he wants to say, whether he wants to say it at all. He thinks he does. Juuse is nothing to be ashamed of. He types, _You have no idea_ , and it’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy that's a big one. Hope you liked that doozy
> 
> You can find us at tumblr [here](http://arzoensis.tumblr.com) and [here](http://tierneychris.tumblr.com)! Feel free to yell at us about this garbage


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